


Epilogue: Honey and Evander

by Dryad



Series: Night Moves [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, As close to Parentlock as I'll ever get, F/F, Family, Gen, Infertility, M/M, No mpreg, Omega Variant, PG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3227735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unto thee a child is born.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epilogue: Honey and Evander

~*~

John tugged down his navy cardigan, smoothed the fabric over his hips, opened the front door. "Harriet."

She brushed past him with the barest of glances. "It's Harry, John, just Harry."

John peered out at the street. "Clara not coming?"

"Nope," said Harry, continuing up the stairs. "She decided to have her existential crisis at home."

"Right," he muttered, closing the door. From behind she had the same build as their mother; tiny, slim, finely boned. There the resemblance ended. Her hair was cut masculine short, with the barest hint of Mod styling. She wore shiny black Doc Marten boots, spotless indigo jeans with low, upturned cuffs, and a black, particolored sleeveless sweater vest over a pink button down shirt. Who she reminded him of came to him in a moment of fascinated horror; she was the spitting image of Sandi Toksvig, if Sandi were six inches taller. Harry's features were finer, and she was conventionally pretty, in a butch pixie kind of way, and yet. 

Sandi Toksvig. 

John bit his lip in the attempt not to smile. It broke out anyway and he ducked his head so she would not see. When he finally got to the landing, he could see that everyone else apart from Harry and himself had settled. Mycroft and Sherlock were in their usual places, glaring at one another, whilst Mr. Lehtola sat in Sherlock's chair, which had been turned to face the couch. Anthea sat in John's chair. Perched on far end of the sofa from Mycroft sat Kiran Kumar, watching the other players in the drama with desperate intensity. Her husband, whom John had had the displeasure to meet exactly once, was thankfully absent. He would have been as popular with Sherlock as a brick in the face. Besides being married to Mrs. Kumar, he had no part in this business, in fact was partly responsible for it.

"I took the liberty of drawing up the documents," said Lehtola, handing a clipboard upon which lay several papers to Anthea, who began to leaf through them. "Now, Miss Kumar - "

"Missus," she replied softly, tucking her hands between her thighs and hunching over a little. 

"You'll have to speak up, my dear," said Mycroft. 

John hadn't ever heard him use that tone before. It was…sweet, the kind of voice once used on a frightened animal. Which was basically the situation at hand. He could understand, he didn't feel too far off of from that himself.

She glanced at him, shrinking down even further. "Mrs. Kumar. I'm legally married to my husband."

"Of course."

Mr. Lehtola looked at her over the top of his eyeglasses. "Mrs. Kumar, you are certain you wish to undertake this action? It cannot be reversed upon receipt of the documents in the archives."

"Don't have a choice, do I?" she said.

Even though it was to his advantage, he felt sorry for the girl. So unfortunate to have met Harry on the train. Hardly her fault she had gone into heat early while traveling to meet her new husband. Their coupling had been textbook, lasting a little less than 24 hours. Most of it in a nearby hotel. The strangest part was that Harry had kept in touch with Mrs. Kumar, had actually given her her card with her phone number on it. Almost as if she had known what was going to happen. But that was ridiculous. No Alpha knew what Omega was going to cross their path, it was just happenstance.

"Your husband won't change his mind?" asked Mycroft delicately.

Mrs. Kumar brows drew together as she shook her head. 

Harry snorted. "Well, I'm certainly not changing mine."

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock lazily motioned towards John. "I support his choice."

Mycroft's lips flattened. "You are not a bystander. You will have equal responsibility."

"Of course I will, stop worrying so much."

"You cannot rely on Mrs. Hudson if you intend to continue with your…work. Have you given any thought to finding a mother?"

John interrupted before Mycroft said something that would make John punch him. Repeatedly. "I've already vetted someone. Mona. She's lives across the street with her girlfriend Eliza, who's an artist. She's very kind, and happy to help out. They're moving in to 221C, on call twenty-four seven."

"I do hope you intend on paying her, John."

"With real money and all," said John, in the same tone of voice as Mycroft. Take that, you shifty bastard. "They're Canadian and fluent in French - "

"Dear god!" Mycroft's moue of distaste was almost comical. "Surely not _Canadian_ French!"

"Oh for - " Sherlock launched off the couch and headed towards the kitchen. Three steps later he turned and pointed at Mycroft. "Mona was born in Vancouver but alternated summer holidays between her paternal grand-parents in Brittany and her maternal aunt in the Massif Central. Clermont-Ferrand, to be precise. Her younger brother, Etienne, is in banking and lives in Luzerne, while her sister Geneve works for Medicins sans Frontieres. I think even you would find _that_ a decent pedigree. Eliza was born in Toronto, but attended school in Marseille, when her father worked for Maersk. When he died unexpectedly, her family returned to Canada, where her mother taught literature at Sherbrooke University. They moved here when Eliza became Artist in Residence at the James Montgomery School."

This was of course not good enough, for Mycroft, and then Sherlock began speaking rapid French. John rubbed the bridge of his nose and then used his very best Captain voice, except more quietly. "That's enough! Whatever form of French she speaks will be more than fine. Can we get on with it?"

When he looked up again it was to find both Holmes brothers looking back at him with mutual expressions of horror.

"John, language is -" started Mycroft, stopping when John held up one hand.

"Not interested."

"Yeah, let's move on," said Harry, who had stopped at Sherlock's desk and was poking in the papers with a little frown. She meandered back to Anthea, looking with interest towards the kitchen. "Just tell me where to sign."

"Where the yellow arrows are," said Lehtola. "Signing absolves you of any financial responsibility. Normally your last name would be retained regardless, though in this case that won't be necessary."

"You see a lot of this, then?" asked John, feeling a little sick. Like everyone else he had seen and heard the ads for Barnardos, given money during the Christmas appeals, but he had never really given any thought to where those children came from.

Mr. Lehtola shrugged. "It's my business."

"He makes a very good living at it," commented Sherlock.

"I do indeed. But then, there are so very many children and parents to be who need my services."

A pretty bald statement to make in front of several of those parents. Even so, John was disappointed to see that Harry didn't seem particularly perturbed by the criticism. Of course that made it even worse, in his mind. On the other hand, until he had presented he had never given much thought to having children, either. One way or the other they would appear - or not - so why worry about it?

John looked at Mrs. Kumar. "Have you picked any names?" Because he had been giving it some thought. Mrs. Kumar shook her head, but he found it hard to believe the mother would _not_ have chosen something, even if she never mentioned it aloud. Maybe that was okay, though. Sherlock had agreed to whatever names John picked, as long as they were not common. John could reassure him on that, nothing in the top one hundred remotely interested him. 

"Mrs. Kumar, by signing you give up your legal rights to the children of Harriet Watson, also known as Harry," intoned Mr. Lehtola, reading from the binder open in his lap. Once again looking at her over the top of his glasses. "You will not give any child support, nor will you be required to pay for legal fees. Should you see the children in passing - which means if you should see them on the street, or if any other child you may have becomes friends with them at the same school, et cetera - you are not to mention who you are to them. If this - "

"No," said John firmly. He crossed his arms. "No, they will definitely know who their mother is, as well as their father. Sherlock and I will be their parents, absolutely, but there will be no shame in their birth situation. And if at some point Kiran wants to be more a part of their lives, we will encourage it."

He felt his face flush as everyone stared at him. Sherlock did the smile that no one ever saw except for John, the slightest upturn at the corners of his mouth, blink and you miss it. Mycroft, and by extension Anthea, remained relaxed, so maybe his words were not as much of a shock as he thought they might have been. 

Mr. Lehtola nodded. "A very wise decision on your part, Mr. Watson. While most people in Mrs. Kumar's situation, and your own, Miss. Watson - "

"Harry," she drawled, fiddling with her keys and not looking anyone in the eye.

"Harry," repeated Lehtola with a little bob of his head. He looked at John, eyebrows raised. "Most people don't want their children to know anything of the circumstances of their birth, so I can't tell you how glad I am for you to have chosen this option. I know it's unconventional and you may face heavy criticism - "

"Look I'm sorry, but can we just do this? I have to get back to work," said Harry.

"Miss Watson, if you would sign here and here, and Mrs. Kumar, right below. Anthea, if you would?" asked Mr. Lehtola, who was now perching on the edge of the sofa.

Anthea held out the clipboard to Harry, who signed and returned it to her. Anthea then passed the clipboard over to Mrs. Kumar, who also signed and handed it back to Anthea.

"Mr. Holmes, you will also need to sign, as Mr. Watson is technically part of your household."

Not for the first time, John bitterly wished he was either a proper Omega or a normal Beta. Being Variant legally made him neither, and so the regular protections were not afforded him. He was, in a word, sub-human. Obviously that was not a medical or scientific fact, but culturally, that was exactly what he was, an anomaly to be ridiculed and treated poorly. To think he had thought being Omega was bad enough! That was before he had become one himself, though. Changed one's perspective quite a bit. It made him wonder how many Variants there were in the world, and what they did to get by, to survive. Because if a person had to list their sex on job offerings and CVs, what hope was there without codification? The thing was, being Variant apparently made him unpredictable in all ways, not just sexually. Which was total bullshit, but who wanted to believe the speaker when the speaker themselves was affected? A philosophical question designed to drive every one nuts, was his answer. So unbelievably stupid. Unless Sherlock miraculously had some kind of answer, which in his case might actually be right.

Sherlock signed, John signed, everyone but Anthea was in on the act. 

"Okay," John said, rubbing his damp palms on his trousers. "I'm making tea."

Good Christ, he was a parent.

Lehtola followed him into the kitchen, cane tapping on the floor. John glanced at the living room; no one appeared to have noticed. Sherlock was talking to a frowning Harry, so that was likely to be horrible some time soon, and Mycroft was at the window, talking on his phone. Anthea was smiling at Mrs. Kumar, who looked like she wanted to vomit all over the floor.

Somewhere in the cabinet was a pack of tea biscuits for occasions, or there would be if Sherlock had yet to find them - he went up on his toes, stretched - reached - yes! Good thing he had tucked them behind the canned beans. Duchy Originals, Lemon shortbread. He busied himself with plates, cups, and saucers, waited for Mr. Lehtola to start, and when he had gotten everything together and was just waiting for the water to boil, finally said, "You look like you want to ask me a question."

"If I may speak personally for a moment?" Lehtola pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, sat down slowly.

"Sure."

"As someone who was adopted and grew up in total ignorance of their family history, I cannot applaud the two of you enough for wanting to make this an open adoption. I know most people think it's a terrible idea, but for some of us the positives far outweigh the negatives."

John looked at him curiously. "Is that how it worked for you?"

Lehtola smiled. "No. I won't say I was one of those people who had either an unhappy childhood, or never felt part of their families, quite the reverse, actually. Things became strained between when my elder sister decided to take it upon herself to find my biological parents."

"I see," said John, even though he really did not.

"She doesn't like me, never has. Thinks I broke the family apart when my parents decided they wanted just one more child."

"Oh. I can relate to that," from the other side, naturally. And he did have some sympathy for Harry. After all, he had grown up knowing of her existence, while she had not had a clue as to his.

"It all worked out in the end. My biological mother is the only parent I have remaining, which is both horrible and wonderful."

"I can imagine," said John, pouring a bit of hot water into the pot and swirling it around. Sherlock said there was no need to warm the pot before making tea, but it looked delicate to John's eyes and he was not about to chance it. Even though he was sure Sherlock was right. It was nice porcelain, why risk breaking it? "Is she nice? Your other mum?"

"Is she nice…" a crease formed between Lehtola's eyebrows as he pondered John's question. "Is she nice…in her own way. We are very different people, and I suspect her own childhood was quite difficult. But then I catch her looking at me sometimes, and it's clear that under other circumstances, she would never have let me go."

Yes, there was a desperate hunger in Mrs. Kumar's eyes, too. No doubt Sherlock would tell him all the details once everyone had left, yet there was really no need. John had made his offer on a whim, because he had seen that haunted look in Afghanistan, from parents who had lost children in far worse situations. And…being honest with himself, he wanted a backup. A backup, someone who would love them without ulterior motives, should he and Sherlock meet the worst on one of their adventures. Yes, of course Mycroft would be there for the children, that was a given. It was just that John wanted, _needed_ to know they had someone…normal…to come home to, too. He poured out the water, added three heaping spoonfuls of loose tea into the pot, then pouring more hot water in. He stirred, let it mash.

"If you're wondering, I think you'll be fantastic parents."

John gave Lehtola an amused look. "I suspect you're the only one."

Lehtola shook his head. "No, really. I know you both by your reputations. Given what you do, I know you'll have their best interest at heart, even when off in the dark chasing criminals. Having said that, are you concerned about security?"

"Mycroft will be taking care of that. With our blessing," John stirred the tea again, put everything on the largest tray he could find, a black lacquered piece of Chinoiserie tucked underneath the kitchen sink. He brought it over to the coffee table. "Mrs. Kumar?"

She took the tea with a look of gratitude, which was unusual, given that she had just been speaking to Sherlock. Who, in turn, had that air of insufferability that made John suspect he thought he had done something very clever. There was just enough tea to go around, even though he only had a couple of sips for himself. It was fine, it was all fine. She might not be, however. Turning on the sofa to face her, he said, "Are you alright?"

"I guess," she said nervously. Her smile was an upturn of lip that did not reach the rest of her face. "I mean, it's not like I was ever going to be able to keep them."

"Because…" he prompted, watching her tuck loose springs of hair first behind one ear, then the other. 

"My husband," she clasped both hands around her cup, shrinking into herself that little bit more. "He was so angry when he found out."

John nodded, hopefully sympathetically. Her story was writ large in her body language. On the other hand, she had been allowed to carry to term.

"Tej is a good man, he is. He, we, _we_ thought it would be confusing for the other children. They wouldn't understand why their siblings didn't look anything like them."

She smiled tremulously, and he hated her just a little bit for it. Okay. Not her fault. Her collusion was shitty and awful and if he hated her for it, how must Harry feel? To be on the other side, the adoptee, what must she have been told? Did she think Mum and Dad were like Mrs. Kumar? Did she think they just gave her up without a single thought, as if she were dirt on the bottom of their shoes? He had wondered, after she had burst into their lives like a popped balloon, gusty winds wreaking havoc for a brief time before depleting themselves. So Harry had gone away, to Paris, to Las Vegas, to Beijing. And there she was, drifting towards the door. John realized her intent was to simply slip out without saying goodbye. He said to Mrs. Kumar, "Of course. Please excuse me."

Harry was putting on her coat when John caught up to her. "Sorry, can't stay."

John wanted to hug her, console her or maybe himself, he was not quite sure. All he knew was that he wanted to touch her, reassure her that everything was going to be okay, with the children, with Clara. "You should come see them. They're with Mrs. Hudson right now."

Her face shuttered completely. "Best if I don't."

"Harry - "

She paused on the landing. "What do you want me to say, John? If Clara had been willing I would have taken the kids on, but she isn't. She blames me for what happened, and Kiran for letting it happen, even though she knows I'm an Alpha."

"It's not her fault that she's a Beta, Harry. You know the odds of conception between Alphas and Betas."

"I guess you should have married her instead of me after all."

A low blow. Her saving grace was that John did not think she knew how close to the truth she was. At one time he _had_ seriously considered marrying Clara. Of course, he had been eighteen at the time, thinking they would be perfect for one another. The lure of Medical school and the Army had been stronger than his love, well, his infatuation, really, had been stronger. The weird part was that Clara and Harry had already met by the time he realized marriage was not in his future. Not with her, not with anyone, ha ha. "Worked in your favor after all."

"Did it?"

With perfect timing a little wail echoed up the stairs. Harry blanched. John heard Mrs. Hudson fluttering about, and the crying stopped soon after. He grabbed Harry's hand before she could flee. "Clara will come around. She loves you, she'll learn how to manage the kids."

Staring down at his hand, she said, very softly, "She's left me, John. And I don't think she's coming back."

John wished he knew his sister better. He wished he had some kind of baseline for her that was not filled with anger and booze, screaming and smashed crockery. He wished Clara had come to him with her concerns and fears. He wished he knew what to do with the broken woman in front of him. Instead, he squeezed her hand and said, "It'll work itself out, one way or the other."

"I'll stop by next week, yeah?"

"Okay. Call me," John let her go, watched her walk down the stairs with defeat in her shoulders, far from the cocky woman who had bounded in only two hours earlier. He wanted to drive the sneaking suspicion that it was all an act out of his brain, but too much water had passed under the bridge for that to happen. The benefit of the doubt, she had burned through that years earlier. Maybe, maybe what she really needed to do was talk to Mum and Dad. Yeah, that was the ticket. He brought out his phone and sent Mum a brief text, asking her to call him. God, he was going to have to break the news to them, too, now that they were Grandparents. Not the way they expected, and certainly not _who_ they expected, however, he knew they would be over the moon with excitement.

Task completed, he stuck the phone back into his pocket and, just as he was going to rejoin Sherlock on the couch, discovered Mrs. Kumar behind him, about to leave. "Will you come to visit?"

"Mr. Holmes is making an arrangement for me," she said shyly.

"Arrangement?"

"I'm about to take a knitting class. I always liked doing art, but my husband doesn't think it's practical. This way I can see the children when I'm in 'class', and still have homework to do later on. And I can sell what I make, and earn some money! He'll really like that."

John smiled, realized she was on the verge of tears and patted her on the shoulder. "Good, that's good."

Her lips and chin were quivering as she tried to smile. "Thank you, for everything. You didn't have to do this."

"Of course I did," John said, nodding as he stepped out of her way. "They're my family."

Apparently Harry's leave taking started the flood, for Mycroft, Anthea, and Lehtola followed within minutes. As much as John wanted time alone, the siren song of the children called to him. Mona was already at Mrs. Hudson's, so he had no worries about Mrs. Hudson being overwhelmed. He was a bit afraid _he_ was going to be overwhelmed, yet that was parenting in a nutshell, right? Finally he closed the door and leaned against it, tired from the excitement.

"So," Sherlock called from the sofa. He sat with one arm outstretched along the back, looking like the very epitome of style and sex. "What are you going to name them?"

"Well," John began, only to stop by the knock on the door. He opened it, whispered, "Hello!"

Mona and Mrs. Hudson were at the door, each of them holding a sleeping baby. Mona smiled brightly at him, offering her pink wrapped bundle up for inspection. Yes, it was a baby. Yes, it was sleeping. Mona's eyebrow's went up, her mouth pursed, and John gave up any attempt at not holding a baby and took the child in his arms. She was remarkably light, and warm, and though he sniffed her head and found almost no scent at all, she still smelled of everything that was right in the world. John tightened his grip and joined Sherlock on the sofa.

"Here you go, Sherlock," said Mona, taking the blue-wrapped bundle from Mrs. Hudson and handing it to Sherlock. She stepped back with folded arms. "See, how perfect are the two of you?"

John was pretty sure she was referring to the children, but when he looked over at Sherlock, he had to agree with her. Sherlock glanced at him, equally wide-eyed.

"Boys?"

John looked up at Mrs. Hudson, freezing when he saw what she carried in her hands; an old fashioned camera. The camera clicked, the flash flashed, John blinked.

"So what are their names?" asked Mrs. Hudson, sitting down on John's chair. "Oh, this chair is so comfortable. Perfect for feeding."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, John, the names?" 

"Well," he stared, then cleared his throat. "I know it's hardly unique, but for the girl I thought Honey would be nice."

"Oh John, that's lovely!" Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands together, clearly delighted. "Honey Holmes. Honey Watson. Lovely."

Sherlock looked at the baby. The girl baby. "Why not Melissa?"

John stared at Sherlock. "It's a good name, a fine name. And you said I could choose it."

"Yes…yes I did. Honey it is."

"And for the boy, I was thinking Evander."

"Evander?" repeated Sherlock. Again, he frowned. "The hero who journeyed with Aeneas, and created the Roman festival of Lupercalia?"

"Founder of the city of Pallantium, which would become the site of the city of Rome," answered John. "I liked the sound of it."

Sherlock was staring at him. John figured he was in his Mind Palace and nuzzled Honey's bald head instead. A baby - he had a _baby!_ Who the hell had ever thought _that_ was a good idea?

'"We'll adopt them," Sherlock had said, buttering a slice of toast.

Sitting next to him, John had almost done a double take. As it was, he merely blinked, unable to quite believe what he had just heard. "Pardon?"

"The children your sister got on that woman. The twins? We should adopt them."

"Sherlock, children aren't puppies, you can't give them away once you've gotten tired of them."

Lips flattened in exasperation, Sherlock put down his toast and studied John. "Your sister's wife is desperately unhappy with the situation as she has not been able to get pregnant in the seven years they have been married. No doubt this is the result of genetic variation which can only be challenged through medical science, but as she is a believer in the powers of meditation and herbs over Follistim and other fertility drugs, she is unlikely to have children biologically."

Harsh, but not untrue. Ironic, as he was a doctor and was willing to help her in any way humanly possible, including the obvious. But that Sherlock was asking - _telling_ John to take the children that would otherwise end up in a home - "Give me your arm."

Sherlock huffed and rolled his white shirtsleeve up. "I haven't been doing any drugs, John."

"Mm," John checked his arms, pushed the sleeves up a little higher to check for patches and yes, there were two peeking under the fabric. Other than that he appeared to be drug free. "What prompted this? I mean, it's not every day you seem to enjoy being in the presence of children, never mind wanting to have them here at the flat."

"They'll come visit. I've already spoken to Mrs. Hudson, we're going to renovate 221C for habitation."

"Well, how is that going to work? We have jobs, we can't be bringing children with us to crime scenes!"

"Oh, for god's sake, John, don't be an idiot!" Sherlock stood and began to pace back and forth. "We'll hire a nanny for day and night. We will get two, for day and night. We can pop down as necessary to see them."

"And bring them up to the flat. Here. In our living room and amongst our things."

"Yes, of course."

Good lord. He was actually serious. John tried to keep his skepticism at bay, but it was hard. This was _Sherlock Holmes_ , Consulting Detective, hounder of criminals, brilliant and full of life and now he wanted to be a father? "You've given this some thought. Why…why now?"

Sherlock looked at the floor. He looked at his hands. He looked into the kitchen. He looked, in fact, everywhere but at John. "You can't have children."

"Nooo…I don't have a uterus. No uterus, no children, that's kind of how that works," John said, growing even more shocked at Sherlock's words. "And even if I did have a uterus, I'm not sure I'd want kids. I've seen too many pregnant male Omega's in the A and E to even want to get pregnant. I mean, I'm grateful for modern medicine and all, but I have no desire to go under the knife just to continue the family line." 

"Omega pregnancy is that difficult?"

John blinked. Okay, this was Sherlock, known for deleting 'unnecessary' information. Right. John was not going to make fun him, no, no. He was going to be kind and gentle and not tease him about this. Not yet, anyway. "Men don't have vaginas, which leaves only one other exit for - "

"Oh!" Sherlock brightened, then looked horrified. " _Oh…_ "

With a chuckle, John put his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his toes. "Let's just say that it's amazing male Omega's didn't die out. Evolution usually takes care of modifications that don't work, but for some reason we just keep on coming. Have you not ever read Houston Smith's 'On Becoming'? It's all about the mythology of the heroic Omega, sacrificing themselves for love and honor and the single child they produce for their beloved before dying."

"Yes, I see your point. But what about before you became Variant, not even then?"

John shrugged. "I figured Harry would be the genetic holder of the torch. And in a way, I was right. As for myself," he shrugged again. "It wasn't my goal in life. If it happened, it happened. But that's what birth control is for. What about yourself?"

"Me?" Sherlock headed into the kitchen and checked the kettle, flicked it on. "I haven't given it much thought."

Mm, which is why you just put the kettle on despite there being a full pot of tea on the table, thought John. It was becoming clear to him that of the two of them, it was Sherlock who wanted children, although for himself or for John, he was unsure. "But you're willing to take my sister's children?"

"They're part of your family. Part of you."

Well. John was pretty sure this was the most romantic, if most life changing, venture anyone had ever proposed to him, and that included actual proposals he had received. A few steps brought him to Sherlock, who was still facing the kettle. John slid his arms around Sherlock's waist, kissed his shoulder blade. "So you're up for having children. Whatever will Mycroft say?"

The muscles under John's palms jerked as Sherlock snorted. "He'll be ecstatic. And terrified. I'll teach them to call him 'Uncle Mike', he'll never recover."

And just like that, the decision had been made. 

Now the children were there, they were holding them, Mona was already looking after them, and Mrs. Hudson looked like she about to burst out of her skin, she was so happy. John glanced at Sherlock. "What do you think?" 

"Honey and Evander," Sherlock murmured, looking down at the child in his arms. "Perfect. They're perfect, John."

 

~*~ Fin ~*~

**Author's Note:**

> So. Here it is, THE END. Never in a million years would I have ever thought that I would write a novel length work of fic. If anything, I am in _awe_ of those people who do write such.
> 
> I never intended to write a WIP, either, I thought this would be a one-off, but as I began to think about the implications of infertility in the Omegaverse, I just couldn't stop writing. I was hella surprised when an actual plot happened, too. 
> 
> But most of all, I cannot thank all of you readers enough. From those of you who commented and kudosed, to those of you who helped me solve problems in chat - just, really. Thank you.
> 
> And now, I get to work on some other stuff, and catch up on my reading! :D
> 
> PS: how the hell do I mark this as complete in the tags?


End file.
